Just Listening
The ghost of Belle Star had her hands down on her findings. She passed them to Jezabelle who sat at the head of the Chamber of Commerce. I haven't been out of the kitchen in weeks and there was a glare coming from the sun as it thumped me on the head with nickel heavy thumbs. A dime flew out of my mouth and the boys came calling. Delilah sits worthlessly alone and cries tears on her cheeks from laughter. Brother Bill set in chains on the hill and was happier than he had ever been. He cried to the chicken sun "Come get me because I can't move." The sun beat on him with copper covered hands of 5 thousand digits.
Escape with me Ms. Quiet and we'll sail around the world. I can be your feather man and you may be my wayward girl. There is always a pagan holiday to challenge our efforts. It's as though we played the game and then realized that no one kept score. Dancing haplessly in a sand storm and our lives written on our clothes in pencil. When the twirling ends there is no more boat and no more writing. There is only you telling me that you know where the Oasis is. Your own way you flee. Your own way you deserve.
Elope with me Ms. Private and we'll taste the coffee houses of the Upper East Side and lay down on the green lawn and laugh with flat stomachs and healthy faces. Our boys will play catch and you'll correct them before I do. I'll lay happy and you'll be on both arms looking up into the sun with a squint.
I really don't mind if I sit this one alone. My words but whisper and cause deafness with a shout. I can make you feel but I can't make you think. We ride all over the fields and skip to the lord as we hold hands in some sort of grasping evidence to our love. But the faces never connect and the sun pierces more than tans. It all seems to end in the first cough or in the first let go and measure of unequal footing. You had no idea there was a hole there and I had no idea you would let go when you fell into it.
Later at lunch we set ourselves apart and there was a scream from across the cafe. There was a rest home reaction as people came running. It makes me want to scream. It makes me want to steal and you just sit there head tilted wondering and learning at nothing. She creepily turned and walked away. She makes me want to scream.
If you would be on my side I would be on your side. You wouldn't ever have to worry about finding a place to belong. It's hard to be on your own when you should be being dragged over the rainbow and sent away. There was a river flowing heavily like in the late fall after all the rain. It flowed with the same sturdy chug of a locomotive. There was nothing to stop it and it shot me dead. I took a knee and looked for her. She was holding my hand while still standing and all that went through my mind were the same sounds of churning water. She looked out at it as if she knew why I fell. She put her hand down on my head and I leaned into the part of her thigh just above her knee. She let her palm come down and caress the side of my head above the ear. Then she said "That's enough. You've grieved enough. It doesn't want you here anymore."
You enter the room and all it just comes to a halt. Like a slow motion movie shot we all turn to see this thing. A scarf is flung and a finger is lifted. Every step has a piece of a part in a movie attached to it. Left foot Marilyn Monroe, right foot - Bette Davis, left foot - God. And it all unravels to just me. In slow motion all their faces peel back to their sunken reflection but mine is on this vivid reel of ecstasy walking at me. Mine is emblazoned into her sweater and black pants. I can smell her from where I sit and it doesn't speed up for me in anyway. Every blink of an eye is a 15-minute intermission and every heeltap is as if the person next to me won't shut up or I have to sip my soda. You should see the stoppage of time in a woman the same way you see your life in the art that you love.
